


omne trium perfectum

by TheAceApples



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, GFY, Happy feet AU, M/M, Multi, Non-Traditional Soulmates, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 03:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceApples/pseuds/TheAceApples
Summary: The song becomes love.





	omne trium perfectum

**Author's Note:**

> More than a year and a half ago i made a post on tumble that just said "happy feet-style soulmates au". @tygermama wrote a great little ficlet on the subject almost immediately found here:
> 
> http://tygermama.tumblr.com/post/162730955582/thefreelancerdivision-happy-feet-style-soulmates
> 
> and now here's what was floating around in my head at the time

 

CT-7567 is three years old and has a song in the back of his head. It has no words, but he hears it during mealtimes, he hears it during training, and he hears it during sleep cycles; it has no words, but it doesn’t need them to fill him up with courage.

One of the very biggest of CT-7567’s brothers passes him in the hall one day on the way to training and catches a hint of the tune, hummed nonchalantly under CT-7567’s breath.

“Don’t let the _kaminiise_ catch you at that, blueback,” the Big Brother laughs, and CT-7567 may be young yet, but he can hear the mocking edge to his voice. He’s smart, though; he can also hear the genuine warning behind it. “Wouldn’t want to be decommissioned for aberrant behavior, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” CT-7567 squeaks in reply, and hurries down the hall. He’s young yet, but he learns fast—he doesn’t let the trainers _or_ the big brothers catch him at it again. It’s not for them anyway.

-

CT-7567 is five years old and has a song rushing through his blood. It has no words, but it’s fierce, and loud, and carries him through the toughest training and the hardest hurts; it has no words, but it doesn’t need them to nurse that little spark of defiance inside him.

One of his batchmates, Lingo, slips up in front of one of the other squads during training and hums his own little tune. He forgets, just for a second, what CT-7567 told the rest of them back when they were the smallest cadets in Tipoca: never let anyone else but each other catch them with their tune. But, Lingo forgets, and he hums a snippet of it to himself during an exercise to bolster his courage.

One of the cadets from the other squad hears him.

The other cadet, a nondescript Number 4 on white and green armor, takes a stunner to the visor courtesy of Snipe and goes down hard. When 756 Squad secures the objective and the buzzer goes off, though, he pops back onto his feet with a bounce.

“That song!” he says—nearly shouts—pulling off his helmet and tossing it away with with shining eyes. CT-7567 grips his training blaster tight when the cadet rushes up to Lingo, but squad leader just holds up an all-clear and lets him close. He stops just before hitting Lingo’s personal space.

“That song,” he repeats, hushed, and CT-7567 meets the eyes of the other squad’s leader, who shrugs. “Can… can you sing it again?”

CT-7567 watches Lingo’s eyes widen behind the yellow visor and glance up at the observation deck. The trainers stand above them, watching, and CT-7567 and the other squad’s leader both begin to carefully hustle their squads off the training floor. Both squads merge together and huddle around their starstruck brothers, who’ve yet to truly look away from each other. In the relative privacy of the changing rooms, Lingo finally answers the other cadet’s request.

His song—unlike CT-7567’s—has words. The tune is soft and sweet, the words speak of curiosity and wonder, and Lingo looks like he’s terrified; he keeps singing anyway. After a few slightly awkward moments, the cadet joins in, and it becomes _more._

Lingo’s song—which CT-7567, Snipe, Byte, Dent, and Target have all heard and mentally stitched together into a coherent whole over the years—suddenly became _their_ song. Where Lingo went high, the cadet went low, until they met in the middle to form a sweet harmony. The cadet added a spark of passion and joy to Lingo’s song, turning it into something more than what either of their songs had been apart.

The two voices, so alike and yet indescribably different, soften and fade away into the echoes of the room. CT-7567 has never seen Lingo this happy, even eyeballs deep in a brand-new language to dissect. He meets the questioning gaze of the other squad’s Number 1 and lifts his chin defiantly.

The squad leader steps forward without hesitation. “That’s Fox,” he says, nodding at his squad’s Number 4.

“That’s Lingo,” CT-7567 replies evenly, not even glancing at the pair, who’ve begun to chatter.

“Nice to meet you all… brothers.”

And that, CT-7567 supposes, is that.

-

CT-7567 is seven years old and has a song tucked away in his heart. It has no words, but it’s strong, and defiant, and everything he needs to be himself; it has no words, but if he meets the right brother, maybe one day it will.

756 Squad has been blasting through its training modules even faster than the standard troopers and Lingo heard from Fox who heard from Bly who heard from one of the sergeants that CT-7567 might even be tapped for the command track soon. The pride swells in his chest and makes him feel so light he could _sing,_ but—no, CT-7567 knows better.

 _Keep your song inside yourself and no one can steal it._ Of course, the flip-side of that is if you keep it hidden away, you may never find another piece of it in someone else. It’s a risk they all take, though the years have shown that a brother might keep it inside himself his whole life, only to slip at just the right time to find that other piece.

 _K-A-R-T-A-L-A-A-R,_ Fox swears he overheard one of Sergeant Skirata’s troops call them, as he shows CT-7567 a special take-down move on the training mats. _Means heart-song._

 _Nice word,_ CT-7567 signs back as he gets to his feet. _Still A-R-R-O-G-A-N-T pricks._

Fox laughs and agrees easily. All the brothers know Skirata’s ilk think they’re better than everyone else. The buzzer sounds and Fox shoots CT-7567 a two-finger salute before rotating to his next partner.

The cadet who takes his place is one that CT-7567 has seen around the other CCs but never spoken with before. _You know hand-speak?_ he asks the newcomer as they settle into their CQC stances.

He gives CT-7567 a droll look in reply. ‘ _Course I do, shiny._

CT-7567 blocks his right hook and then they’re trading blows for several moments. _Never know,_  he finally says when they pull away to reevaluate each others’ defenses. _CC B-L-Y not know hand-speak. I check first now._

Like Fox, he barks out a laugh, then sweeps CT-7567’s feet out from under him. CT-7567 manages to take the cadet down with him and then they’re wrestling on the mats like a couple of tubies. The buzzer sounds when CT-7567 has him in a rear naked choke, batting ineffectively at CT-7567’s arm.

They separate after a silent struggle for dominance, when the other cadet finally taps out. “I’m Kote,” he calls back to CT-7567 on his way to his next partner, drumming out a hypnotic, almost-familiar beat on the leg of his blacks.

-

Rex is ten years old and there’s a song in his soul. It has no words, but its melody dips and twines with Kote’s sharp, evocative rhythm to become something _more_ than it is on its own; it has no words, and maybe it never will, but that’s okay.

They have flashing hands and hard eyes and razor-sharp smiles; they have _you go left, I’ll go right_ and _down, on your six, I’ve got you_ and the knowledge that, together, they’re unbeatable.

 _C-O-D-Y, eh?_ Rex comments with a smirk hidden from view, but not from notice, as Alpha-17 continues down the line of introductions. _It’s cute. Suits you._

 _T-R-A-N-S-L-I-T error, too late to catch,_ Kote replies from across the holotable, careful not to let Alpha-17 spot them. The tall Jedi commander seems to notice, but says nothing.  _Rolling with it._

“Cee-Cee One-Five-Four-Seven, calls himself Faie,” Alpha-17 finishes, flashing an emphatic _STOP, QUIET, SHUT UP_ at them both–his only concession to learning hand-speak during ARC training; and, yes, it  _did_ always read like a drill sergeant’s shouts.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Jedi General Kenobi says to the assembled troops, newly graduated and under his command. He nods at Kote, gesturing to his temple, “And I’m glad to see you’re no worse for wear, Commander Cody.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kote says primly, silently daring Rex to keep talking shit.

Watching General Kenobi smile warmly at the commander, Rex can admit he’d probably let the general get away with something similar if it was _him._ He still flashes Kote another shit-eating grin as the informal greetings continue.

It turns out that General Kenobi’s commander had been promoted since Kote last heard, and Rex and Appo will be officers in the legion under him: the 501st. They exchange looks at the news and listen respectfully as the newly-minted general introduces himself.

Skywalker is a little too loud, a little too sure of himself, but Kote and Alpha-17 had both—to some degree or another—spoken to his skill in battle and willingness to work with them. Rex flashes the pertinent information to Appo as Skywalker turns and throws out some kind of good-spirited jab about his former Jedi Master; he catches the tail end of the conversation and looks at them both curiously, but again says nothing.

The meeting begins to wind down a little while later, General Kenobi having met and exchanged at least a few words with they who would be slotted into the Third Systems Army. Rex heads for the door but is stopped by Kote’s new gold-painted armor blocking the way.

“General Kenobi,” he calls out, dragging Rex toward the Jedi by one blue and white vambrace. “This is Captain Rex. He’ll be heading up General Skywalker’s division.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Anakin being a _general,”_ Kenobi muses with a teasing smile, “but I’m sure you’ll do Alpha proud. It’s an honor to meet you, Captain–Cody’s told me quite a bit about you.

“Likewise, sir,” Rex replies, digging an elbow into Kote’s ribs. The Jedi holds out a hand and surprises Rex by clasping his forearm in greeting. His grip is firm and his eyes are very, very blue. “I wouldn’t believe everything you hear, though. _Cody,_ here, can be a bit of a trouble-maker.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” the General laughs, and Rex thinks, _Oh,_ and without quite meaning to, he begins to hum.

-

Rex is thirteen years old and his heart sings. Its melody dips and twines with Cody’s stark and uncompromising rhythm and Obi-Wan’s soft, slightly mournful, voice. The song they, all three of them, create is something a little sad and a little angry, but it’s altogether hopeful.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, Lingo, Byte, Dent, Target, and Snipe belong to Charity-Angel, because I love them all so much! (Especially Lingo, I don't know if anyone's noticed.)


End file.
